Taillights and Dirty Wings
by BulletTimeScully
Summary: In a world turned to dust, love takes many forms...
1. Chapter 1

_**Taillights and Dirty Wings**_

By BulletTimeScully

A/N: To all my SSHG/Harry Potter followers, sorry! I've added another love to my very small list of fandoms, and I just wanted to try this out. I haven't abandoned my SSHG stories, not by a long-shot (FotF will hopefully be updated within the next month or so), but I couldn't resist the lure of these two intriguing characters.

That said, this is my first Caryl fic… and while I've been writing in another fandom for over three years now (see above), this if my first foray into these characters. This was written in about an hour, has had no Beta-read, and was influenced by one glass of wine too many. So forgive me, I know not what I do. This is told from a third person POV, which I love to do. I might continue this, but I'd be crazy to try and commit to it right now!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners. No infringement is intended. I make no money from this. I do it purely for my own enjoyment and hopefully that of others.

* * *

As the sun starts it rapid descent in the west, I look up ahead… to the ever-present taillights weaving in and out of the slowly encroaching fog. Their presence is like a beacon… always leading the group onward… towards something better, something brighter… something safer.

The nights are getting colder lately, the days shorter. I know we're headin' into the coldest part of the year, and we've yet to find a place to hole up for a month or two, or at least until the worst weather passes us by.

He knows it too… Daryl that is.

He's always lookin', searchin'… patrollin' the woods for a safe haven… an Avalon, if you would, for our downtrodden knights and weary maidens. I laugh to myself; I can't categorize us like that… knights… maidens. There're no innocents here anymore, save the unborn child in my wife's womb. It alone is still pure. The rest of us lost our purity a long time ago.

This thought turns my attention back to the motorcycle. For the longest time, the old Triumph had held one rider; Daryl was a loner of the highest order… stubborn, proud, headstrong, and quick to fight… except with her.

Carol.

With her… I don't know what you would call it. I had seen them interacting on the farm, and while I never thought there was anythin' goin' on, so to speak… there was… somethin' there. It didn't seem to be harming either of them, so I let it be… but I kept my eye out. Had to look out for the group, didn't I? Couldn't have their… whatever it was… going south and making a mess of things.

Anyway, back to my point. Something had changed between them in the six months since we had left the Greene homestead. True to character, neither one was ever overly demonstrative, but since I had made it a priority to keep my eye on them for a while now, I noticed things. Like the way Daryl would set up his tent near hers, sleep there before his watch, but never go back to it afterwards. Or the way Carol left her own tent door unzipped just enough for him to squeeze inside without disturbing anyone else in camp.

The fact that they were both always up before the others said volumes as well… at least to me.

There were other things too… like the way he touched her when he thought no one was looking. I'd known Daryl for a while now, and I knew that he was not one to touch casually. Everything he did, he did with a purpose. So when his hand would ghost over her hip, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt to rub against bare skin… or he would brush his fingers against hers, mingling them for the briefest of moments before pulling away… I couldn't help but wish them well.

That no one else saw – or pretended not to see – was probably a blessing. It gave the two of them space… it gave them time to figure out what they were to each other. From the very beginning, they had gravitated towards one another, through pasts filled with abuse and neglect, and what was once based around mutual respect and understanding had become… more.

I watched as the brake lights of the Triumph flared to life, illuminating the pair of tattered angels' wings that Carol now wore on her back. The jacket and vest had been a part of Daryl for as long as any of us could remember. Some of us had even joked that it was fitting, calling him our resident guardian angel. Of course, he'd just roll his eyes and go about his business as usual.

No one had joked, however, the morning the two of them had come down to the fire together, and Carol had the thing thrown over her shoulders… with Daryl's hand at the small of her back. For them, it was pretty much an open declaration to the group: they were, for all intents and purposes, together… and didn't give two shits what anyone else had to say about it.

Funny thing was… no one said anything.

Not one damn word.

Just carried on like normal.

I smiled… 'cause that's what we're fightin' for, ain't it?

~ FIN


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

* * *

"Love is just love; it can never be explained."

~ Anonymous

* * *

'S funny how things turn out sometimes.

Our lives… hell, _life_ as we know it has long since ceased to exist. Now it's just us… and the dead… as my husband loves to remind us.

Husband.

That word's relative nowadays too.

Rick and I have been together for a long time; we thought we knew each other, loved each other. I guess we still do, but just… differently now. It doesn't matter I guess, not in the grand scheme of things. We're alive, we're together… Carl and the baby are alive and safe. Besides, what're we gonna do? Get a divorce?

Yeah…

The fire pops in the crumbling fireplace and I jump, looking up to gaze around the small room we're all huddled in for the night. Maggie and Glenn sit in quiet conversation against the far wall; T has first watch, so he's out front at the moment, but his things lie ready in his spot near the fireplace; Herschel, Beth, and Carl are already sleeping; Carl lies next to me, while Beth and Herschel lie back to back closest to the fire.

Rick sits on the far side of the hearth, away from the others, cleaning his gun… again. His haggard, stubbled face is half illuminated by the fire, half in shadow. He's tired, I know he is, and stressed. The part of me that loves him feels sorry for him, for the burden he's chosen to carry, but then the part of me that's angry with him just can't manage to give a shit.

He glances up to see me staring, and I look away. _Coward_, my inner voice says; I don't argue.

My averted gaze drifts now to the far corner, to the pair resting just at the edge of the firelight. They sit beside one another, not purposely separate like me and Rick, nor cuddled close like Glenn and Maggie, but just close enough that Carol's bent leg rests against the top of Daryl's thigh. His fingers toy lazily with the frayed edge of the hole in the knee of her jeans.

For Daryl, such a simple thing is equal to… well, let's just say it's a big deal... probably the equivalent of Glenn laying one on Maggie in front of everyone. 'Course, when Rick first came back, I was pretty much the same; I didn't care who saw me being affectionate with my husband. He'd literally come back from the dead, after all.

Now… Rick won't even look at me most days, let alone touch me.

The baby moves, distracting me, and my hand immediately goes to my huge stomach. I know Carol notices – she always notices – and I look up to meet her eyes. She smiles at me, yet it's a sad, bittersweet smile. I know she's remembering her own lost child, which saddens me too, but I smile back anyway.

Daryl, quiet and observant man that he is, notices our silent exchange and leans over to whisper in Carol's ear, his fingers ghosting lightly over the exposed skin of her knee as he does.

Her smile grows, and she tips her face towards him, her eyes closing as she touches her forehead to his for a brief moment. I can't help but wonder what he might have said to make her smile like that. I'll never ask, of course… it's not my business… yet I can't help but be insanely jealous.

Still, I have my suspicions; I have a feeling that Daryl would give her motherhood again if things were different. Not that I think he particularly wants to be a father – he has a lot of issues there, apparently… - but if it was something Carol wanted, he'd oblige her. All she'd have to do is ask, or give him that look I've seen her give him a lot lately – a look that almost always precedes their disappearance for an hour or two – and our group would be full of blue-eyed, mini-Dixons.

The thought of toddlers carrying crossbows, walking around with strings of dead critters strung over their shoulders makes me chuckle. My humor fades quickly though, as I realize that it'll probably never happen. Carol would never ask that of him… not now… not in this horrible, cruel world.

I look down and run my hand over my belly again, saying a prayer for the tiny life inside. When I glance up again, it's just in time to see Carol lay her hand on Daryl's arm. Something unspoken passes between them, and she smiles at him once more before moving to lay down on the small pallet she's laid out for them. Daryl slips off his jacket and vest and hands it to Carol, who tries to give it back to him, like always. In the end, he just glares at her, not that there's any malice behind it, of course, and she reluctantly takes it, if only to make him happy.

Maybe it's my pregnancy hormones, or maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic, but I almost tear up at the way he puts himself between her and the door, shielding her from any potential threat. It's not that Rick doesn't protect me, he does… it's just… I feel more like an obligation now, a burden.

Carol? She's no burden. A blind man could see that Daryl loves her with every part of his being, and she loves him back just as fiercely, although you'll never hear them say it. And despite the fact that I can see it plain as day, I'm still not sure which happened first.

Those two? They're so subtle you literally have to look for it. An outsider probably wouldn't notice anything at all. When _I_ first started to notice that something had… shifted… I had to make myself watch them to catch even the slightest hint. I know I probably shouldn't have, but what else do I have to do nowadays?

It started with the small things: a touch that wasn't completely necessary, and that lasted just long enough to be anything but casual; the two of them sitting close together, even though they didn't have to; lingering gazes that held… well, the best word I can think of is… _need._

Not_ need_ in the sense that they wanted to screw around, which I'm sure they did, but nevermind that… this was more like _need_ in the sense of companionship, of having someone that you didn't have to explain everything to… someone you could be with that simply… _understood_.

The biggest hint, for me at least, came much later. Well, I take that back; it wasn't really a hint, more like a giant red flag flappin' in the breeze. Of course, I wasn't supposed to see, and I'm pretty sure I almost ruined a very… _private_ moment.

We were camped for the night on the banks of a little slough* that branched off the Chattahoochee, surrounded on three sides by a high stone ridge; pretty safe by the usual standards, I guess. It was a quiet night: crickets, cicadas, the pop of the logs in the fire, the river in the background… nothin' special or harmful going on.

Rick was taking watch on the ridge at the top of the hill, everyone else was sitting around the fire, dozing or talking quietly. I was getting pretty tired myself, so I told the others where I was going and started up the hill to the truck to see about getting my bedroll. The vehicles were all parked up against the rock face, turned outward towards the road in case we had to make a quick escape. I had just rounded the front of the truck when I heard the shuffle of feet against dirt, and a low, almost inaudible moan.

My hand went instantly to the revolver tucked in the back of my jeans. I waited, and the sound came again: a low moan, a grunt, the slow shuffle of feet.

Fuck…

I edged forward slowly, my better judgment causing me to reach for my knife instead, and as I came around the back of the truck, I froze. Seems I wasn't the only one looking to secure my things for the night. The tailgate on the Suburban was down, and there sat Carol, her legs wrapped tightly around Daryl's waist as he nuzzled her neck. His hands were beneath her shirt, rubbing slowly against the skin of her waist, and her hands were in his hair, urging him on as he nipped at the delicate skin beneath her ear. Their bedrolls were scattered on the ground at their feet.

I stood like a deer in the headlights, not moving, not breathing for fear of them realizing I was there. I have to admit that I was fascinated by what I was seeing… Daryl was a very private person, and Carol… well, she had pretty much become the mother of the group, so seeing her with her legs wrapped around a man… around Daryl…and watching him literally grab her ass and pull her into his hips as he ground them towards her… seeing her tighten those legs around him as her eyes closed and her mouth opened in a silent mewl, her hands pulling him closer as she buried her face in his shoulder…

I left.

Quickly and quietly.

And I never said a word about it. Although, when they came back to the fire a bit later, looking only slightly tousled, Carol caught my eye, smirked, and raised her eyebrows at me before settling down near Daryl as usual. I nearly laughed out loud, but caught myself, covering my mouth to disguise it as a cough.

I never left my bedroll in the truck again.

~ FIN

*pronounced: slew (a marshy or reedy pool, pond, inlet, backwater, etc) Here in Alabama, a slough is usually a small area or inlet running off of a lake or big pond; it's a common area for boat ramps, lake houses, piers, and even places to swim.


End file.
